


We Make Our Own Gravity To Give Weight To Things

by Cinaed



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: choc_fic, Female Character of Color, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-06
Updated: 2008-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs friends, people who will watch her back not merely out of duty but out of friendship and affection as well, and it seems that Kusanagi is intent on filling that space for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Make Our Own Gravity To Give Weight To Things

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to the marvelous blue_raven for beta'ing this for me. The title comes from Ani DiFranco's "Hour Follows Hour." The choc_fic prompt was: "Sam &amp; Miko: scientific pleasure - let me show you how it's done." Spoilers for "Reunion."

When she was told that Colonel Sheppard and the others on the short list had either turned down the position or been needed elsewhere and that she would be (had to be) the new leader of Atlantis, Sam started reading every single report she could get her hands on. Oh, McKay had sent her emails -- quite a few, in fact, especially when he'd managed to save the day -- and she'd skimmed the occasional report when it seemed like something might help them in their battle against the Ori and then when she'd worked on the Midway station, but otherwise she didn't know a third of what she ought to as the up-and-coming leader of the expedition. She ignored the soft, plaintive voice in the back of her head that whispered, _I don't want Atlantis, that's what Daniel's always wanted, don't send me there to fight Doctor Weir's ghost_, ignored it because she's always known that there is a difference between duty and desire. It's just that this time the gap between duty and desire is several light years wide.

As she studied the reports and slogged through the personnel files, she wondered how on earth General Landry and Cam had done it, jumped headfirst into the SGC fray where everyone knew each other, had in fact known each other for years and seen their friends and colleagues through hell and numerous catastrophes. How had they kept track of all the names and faces, recognized the various chains of love and loss and duty that bound every one of them to each other? How well had Landry and Cam read between the lines of the reports? (God knew how much Hammond, Jack, and Landry had left out of their reports over the years; there could be no doubt that Sheppard and Weir had done the same, Sam struggling to read what wasn't actually there, filling in the gaps based on stories people had brought back from the Pegasus galaxy.)

After the first thirty, forty personnel files, her head pounded, her eyes watered, and she had to take a break. She understood, suddenly, so much better than ever before, why Jack said bureaucracy like it was a four-letter word. Sam escaped to the commissary to grab something to eat, feeling a pang of regret each time she caught sight of a familiar face in the corridors on her way from her lab there, faces she might never see again. There was Sergeant Harriman, here since the beginning. And there went Lieutenant Simmons, who still looked the slightest bit flustered whenever he saw her. Hadn't someone mentioned that he was engaged now?

Sam sank into a chair in the commissary and resisted the urge to rub at her forehead. She was beginning to see why Jack had all but fled from the command of Cheyenne Mountain, though she doubted he'd found much relief behind a desk in Washington. Taking a slow, grateful sip of coffee, she closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe she should just bring several crates of coffee and aspirin with her to Atlantis. She took another sip, thought of the rest of the personnel files she had yet to get through, and sighed. Yes, coffee and aspirin definitely sounded like a good idea.

*

Sam worked hard at putting names to faces, and after a few weeks on Atlantis, she thought she was doing pretty well, all things considered. At least she was _trying_, which couldn't be said for McKay, who Sheppard told her had taken almost a year to call Doctor Zelenka anything more than "that Czech guy" and who still said things like, "Hey, you with the weird mustache/the brown hair/the lisp" to the new scientists Sam had brought with her on the _Apollo_.

"Colonel Carter?" a quiet voice said, interrupting her thoughts, and Sam looked up from the latest report by Sergeant Stackhouse and an infuriated Zelenka, who had just come back from M7G-677. (Really, Sam would have to tell McKay to stop tormenting Zelenka by sending him to that planet whenever they had a fight.) It was one of the Asian scientists, wearing an apologetic look and hovering just inside the open doorway. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

"It's fine. I was just going over a few reports," Sam assured her, waving a hand towards the empty chair. She rubbed at her eyes, which were beginning to ache with strain from the 'few reports.' How many months would it be before she needed contacts? "Please, have a seat. Is there a problem?"

The scientist shook her head quickly at that, eyes widening a little behind her glasses. She was a short woman, with a round, pleasant face and an unassuming air. Sam could easily picture her melting into the background as some of the louder scientists argued, waiting until they paused to catch their breaths before offering her own quiet opinion. "No, no, no problem at all. I was wondering, though, if you would-- if you'd like to come to the poker game tomorrow." There was a small, almost tentative smile on her lips, as though she expected Sam to turn her down immediately. Sam couldn't quite figure out her accent-- Korean? Japanese? Daniel would have known, she was sure.

"Poker game?"

"We have Ladies' Poker Night, every other Wednesday or so," the woman explained, her smile gaining strength when Sam didn't automatically say no. "Doctor Heightmeyer said she would invite you, but she's been very busy helping the newcomers get used to the city and I wanted to make certain you were invited."

"Oh." Sam felt something -- a tension she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying around -- ease. They wouldn't have extended the invitation if they didn't think she was doing a decent job at commanding Atlantis, surely. Otherwise Ladies' Night would have been their safe haven to gripe about her command. It was heartening to know they had faith in her and believed that she could keep safe the city that Doctor Weir loved (_had_ loved, even though Sheppard and the others insisted on believing Doctor Weir was still alive; for her part, Sam half-hoped that Doctor Weir was dead, if only because she suspected it would be more merciful than the alternative). Then she sighed and looked down at the various reports on her desk. After the incident with Ronon's fellow Satedans, she'd wanted to study the reports that mentioned Wraith worshipers, see how much of a danger they could be to Atlantis. "I'm afraid that I'm still catching up on reports. Every other Wednesday, you said? I'll try to come to the next one."

"Someone will remind you when it's coming up," the woman assured her, nodding and smiling. The tentativeness had vanished from her features. "Good afternoon, Colonel Carter." She gave a final, quick nod of her head and then turned to go, pausing for a moment just outside the door. "I'm -- I was going to the mess hall for dinner. Would you like me to get you something to eat?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Sam said. "Enjoy poker night."

The woman shot her an unreadable look that Sam couldn't define, no matter how she tried. When she spoke though, her tone was matter-of-fact and innocent. Perhaps _too_innocent; it was much the tone Vala used whenever she was denying to Daniel that she'd stolen something or caused any mischief, and Sam wondered if perhaps her first impression had been wrong regarding the scientist's ability to hold her own. "I'm sure _someone_ will, Colonel. These new scientists and soldiers, they don't know who can play and who cannot."

As Sam laughed a little, the woman vanished from sight. It was only then that she realized she hadn't gotten the woman's name. Damn. Sam eyed the personnel files. She'd look the scientist up later, once she was done with these reports.

*

It seemed like forever since she'd done anything except look over mission reports or argue with the I.O.A. She hadn't even really gotten a chance to peek at the Ancient database that Daniel so coveted, though from time to time her hands itched to investigate it. After sending off her latest report to the I.O.A., she sighed and got to her feet. Screw it, she was going to investigate the database a little, if just to send a tidbit or two to Daniel.

When she got to the control room, though, Chuck the technician, Doctor Coleman, and a second female scientist were huddled around one of the consoles, arguing in low, fierce whispers. Sam mentally sighed -- so much for taking a bit of a break -- and then cleared her throat. All three heads snapped up to look at her guiltily, and she recognized the female scientist as the one who'd invited her to poker night three, no, four days ago. Sam raised an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"_Someone_," Coleman said, looking significantly at Chuck, who flushed and frowned back, "spilled some coffee on the console. Miko and I are just checking it for any damage."

Miko? Sam rummaged around in her memory banks. Miko-- oh yes, Miko Kusanagi, from Anjo, Japan. Part of Zelenka's engineering team, probably, though Sam wasn't sure. Still, it seemed like a safe bet, from the intent way Kusanagi had been studying the console, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she concentrated. Kusanagi had been one of the veterans of that first year, Sam knew; she'd made a point to learn who had been here the longest, the ones who had chosen a possibly one-way ticket to the Pegasus galaxy.

"It wasn't me this time," Chuck muttered under his breath, but the women ignored him, both with the air of someone who'd heard that protest so many times that they couldn't believe it anymore, even though it might actually be true, since in the albeit brief weeks Sam has been in the city, she's never seen Chuck with food or drink near the consoles.

"Can I help?" Sam asked, and couldn't quite hide her smile at their startled looks. Had they forgotten that she'd had her own lab in Cheyenne Mountain? Now that she was closer to the trio, she could smell the strong, rich scent of the spilled coffee and inwardly winced at the carelessness of whoever had spilled the drink.

After a moment, though, Kusanagi smiled at her and said quietly, "Of course, Colonel Carter." Moving aside to let Sam come closer to the console, she added, "We probably shouldn't mention this to Doctor Zelenka or Doctor McKay, however."

"Oh?" Sam said, blinking. Would Zelenka and McKay really be offended if she used some of her experience with Ancient technology? She'd thought that her working relationship with McKay was going fine, once the initial awkwardness had eased and the proper groundwork for a professional relationship had been put into place.

"They have both said, loudly and frequently, that whoever spills the coffee on a precious piece of Ancient tech is on the next trip back to Earth," Kusanagi explained. She shrugged, a wry smile curving her lips. "I don't object to their protective nature, but it would be pity to lose whoever dropped their coffee because of one mistake." One glance at Kusanagi's smile and Chuck's studiously blank expression, and Sam knew that Chuck had been a witness to the accident and that the other woman had figured out exactly who had done the deed.

"Right, we'll just forget to mention this to them then," she said, and watched as Kusanagi's smile warmed and widened and Chuck attempted to mask his relief. Coleman just looked resigned to the fact that someone out there didn't respect the Ancient technology the way she and most of the other scientists did.

Sam smiled back at Kusanagi and then focused on her work, feeling the itch in her hands ease significantly as she touched and examined the console. It wasn't the database, of course, but it was infinitely better that mission reports. As they worked, Sam said conversationally, "Doctor Kusanagi, I hope you enjoyed the poker game."

Coleman snorted, the sound colored with amusement. "Oh, she did. Richards, Cairns, and Lefevre never even knew what hit them," she said, and snorted again at Kusanagi's serene smile. "Somehow they always fall for her 'I've never really played poker before' routine and wind up lucky that she lets them keep the shirts on their backs."

"Are you interested in foreign films, Colonel Carter?" Kusanagi asked, ignoring her fellow scientist's comments. "I won several Japanese and French films from Doctor Lefevre and would be more than happy to share." Rather than answer immediately, Sam instead studied her. She still had that same unassuming air as when she'd invited Sam to the poker night, but Sam could see now that it was a mask, or at least part of one. Beneath that pleasant expression and friendly tone of voice was a woman who apparently had one of the best poker faces on Atlantis and was willing to use it on new arrivals.

As though reading her thoughts, Kusanagi added, "I took pity and will return the films to her in a couple weeks, so please let me know if you're interested."

"I might do that," Sam said, smiling at her, and felt something go warm and light in her chest at Kusanagi's answering smile. Being respected was all well and good, but to survive on Atlantis, Sam needed friends, people who would watch her back not merely out of duty but out of friendship and affection as well, and it seemed that Kusanagi was intent on filling that space for her on Atlantis.

She turned back to the console, but made a mental note: ask Daniel a bit about Japan in the next databurst to Earth.

 


End file.
